Page 4 of Embers of Fate
With a graceful bow, Sean takes his leave. The taut line of his mouth betrays disapproval at my curt dismissal.
A long exhale slips through my lips the moment I’m alone, the air thick and stifling as a wool blanket in this accursed house. I rush towards the window, desperate for a breath of fresh air to soothe my restless spirit. As soon as I crack open the pane, a refreshing gust caresses my clammy skin, dulling the haunting pain that constantly gnaws at me.
Where does this unease simmering inside me come from? It’s not Bram—he’s not the spark that ignited these inner flames. This disquiet plagued me long before his imperious summons dragged me back here.
I press my forehead against the cool glass, gazing out at the moonlit courtyard below—an orderly world of manicured hedges, marble fountains, stately palms. So postcard-perfect, yet so foreign to me now. I yearn for the numbing pills to kick in, to grant even a temporary reprieve from this pounding agony in my skull.
Other than presenting a united front for the clan, why did Bram summon me back here after all these years apart? I know he called me to stand as a show of Draken strength against outside threats. But does he believe a lavish room and the family name can compensate for a decade’s absence? I chuckle bitterly at the idea. Nothing can fill the hollow chasm carved inside me so long ago. Though curiosity tinges my distress—what else prompted him to break our silence at last, beyond the obvious political motives? What game is he playing?
I gaze up at the night sky, picking out scattered constellations amidst the Parisian haze, like joining fading dots in an abstract painting. Mother taught me those patterns as a boy. One of the few happy memories not stripped away by time.
I close my eyes, inhaling the heady perfume of roses wafting in from the gardens below, mingling with the smoke of crackling birch logs in the fireplaces winding through the manor. Scents of the past conjure ghosts best left undisturbed.
A bitter realization settles in the pit of my stomach. This place, this house that I once called home... it’s not the haven I thought it would be, not the warm embrace of family and belonging that I’ve been craving for so long.
Instead, it’s a mausoleum, a cold and lifeless shell of a building that echoes with the shadows of yesteryear, the memories of a life that can never be reclaimed. The halls that once rang with laughter and love now stand silent and empty, a stark reminder of all that I’ve lost, all that can never be again.
The clock tower chimes midnight, a mournful toll jolting me from my brooding thoughts. “I need to get out of here,” I mutter under my breath, a prisoner desperate for any respite from these ornate walls steeped in memory.
I lean closer to the glass as a sleek black and red sports car prowls up the long driveway like a jungle cat.A Bugatti Chiron Sport.“Gods, is that... my ride?” I realize with a spark of disbelief. But as I stare at the spotless beauty, I see more than a luxurious vehicle. I see a chance for escape, if only temporary.
Time for a drive to clear my restless mind.
I have no allies here, no friends I can call on in this place that was once home. But the open road and the city night beckon. I need to get away, lose myself for a few reckless hours, feel the wind scour away this lingering unease. Anywhere is better than sitting idle, waiting for dawn and Bram’s return.
4
NIK
Pulsing lights and pounding bass engulf the crowded nightclub, the music’s beat thundering in my chest like a second heartbeat. It’s the same lurid scene everywhere I go, yet somehow I’m drawn to these places. I don’t dance, don’t drink—merely hover at the fringes, an observer. But something about being immersed in the writhing crowd makes me feel alive.
Perhaps it’s witnessing others revel in reckless abandon, or make fools of themselves as inhibitions slip away. Whatever the allure, for a few anonymous hours I can forget my troubles and indulge the illusion of belonging. In the crowd, I don’t feel so fucking alone.
I push through the sweaty horde, finally reaching the bar. An opening appears and I quickly claim it, resting an elbow on the slick lacquered counter.“Une bière sans alcool,”I call over the music, asking for a non-alcoholic beer. The bartenders here usually have something on hand for guys like me.
“Tourtel?” the bartender shouts back, holding up a green bottle.
I nod in agreement and he sends the chilled beer sliding my way. As I lift it to my lips, a guy next to me throws his weight back suddenly, his meaty elbow digging into my ribs. I jerk from the impact, frothy beer splashing down my shirt.
“Fuck!” I growl, flashing pain radiating through my side. Instant rage burns through me like brushfire. I cut my eyes at the hulking stranger, but he doesn’t even acknowledge the collision. The urge to pummel his oblivious face courses hotly through my veins.
Deep breath, Nik. No need to start a fight. You didn’t come here for that. Just try to relax.
I turn back to the bar and grab a napkin to dab ineffectually at the wet spot on my shirt. As I lift my beer for another attempt, a woman’s voice rises insistently behind me.
“I said no. How many times do I have to repeat it?”
The same guy rumbles back, “C’mon, I bought you that drink. Least you could do is thank me.”
I quirk an eyebrow at his entitled tone but keep my focus forward.None of my business.I’m content to stand here nursing my drink in peace.
Then another elbow jams painfully into my ribs, harder than the first time. I huff out a strained breath, steadying myself on the bar. Molten rage bubbles up inside me.
That’s fucking it.
I set my bottle down with a thunk and spin to face the jerk, grabbing his shoulder to yank him around. “Listen here, motherfu—”
The rest dies in my throat as glass shatters loudly next to me. I glance over to see the woman wielding the broken base of her bottle, eyes blazing at the man.
